a.u.

Chapter Twenty: Note

Damian came to in the darkness again. He didn't hesitate this time, taking a few steps forward into the nothing and trying to blink the blinding light out of his eyes. The first thing he saw was an outdated green carpet. The next sight that followed was a handful of tall bookshelves.

The desk came into view not too long after.

Damian looked around, eyes still blinking rapidly. From what he could see, the room was empty. He peered around the corner of the desk and around the edges of the bookshelves where dim light met darkness.

Nothing.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't budge a word.

It was quiet.

He rubbed his fingers across his palm without even thinking about it.

Damian put a hand on the worn out wooden chair and pulled it out. He took a seat, feeling defeated. The dim orange light of the desk lamp illuminated his face. He put his hands on the desk.

Something caught his eye. Something that probably should've caught his eye the very first moment he entered the room.

The papers on the desk were different. There were still stacks of unfamiliar books, but the Manila folder of paper clipped stories was closed and tucked neatly in the upper right hand corner of the desk. A couple loose leaf sheets still lay scattered, but there was one in particular that was squarely positioned in the middle of the desk, waiting just for Damian to see. He scurried to take a look at it.

It had that handwriting. That no-kerning, tall slender scrawl that had somehow wormed its way into his permanent memory. It was familiar in a way he wasn't expecting to see.

Damian went ahead and read it.

Damian,

Hi.

This is Alexander, by the way. Not whatever mysterious force is in control of this place. Or God. I'm especially not God.

I hope you find this letter well. Or just, like, at all or I spent way too much time trying to figure out what to say for nothing.

Anyway.

Fuck.

I don't know what to say.

I feel like this is where I'm supposed to say sorry? But I don't know what I'm supposed to be sorry for. I mean, I guess I kind of blew up back there. We both did, I think. And maybe I said some kind of harsh things to you. And you know, maybe you were right in some way. Maybe this was all just concocted by someone writing words on a page trying to get us together for shits and giggles.

And...maybe? Maybe I did want that to happen.

Anyway.

Even if you never want to speak to me again (which, you know, I understand), I just wanted to let you know I had a lot of fun.

I know I said that before but I don't think I got the chance to explain myself. Going to all these places, doing all these things, I feel like we finally got to do things we never thought we would. I mean, you were a freaking knight, dude. That's some dope shit.

And I guess that came at the cost of us having to experience some kind of physical and emotional intimacy. Oh no, what a terrible, terrible thing.

Sorry.

I'm writing this like less than an hour after you left so I'm still kind of salty.